Wardrobe
by Yggdrasil'sRoots
Summary: Lydia likes wearing Stiles' clothes. Stiles likes seeing her in them.
1. Chapter 1

_**So I was talking to smileyfacebabe, and she said something about a fic she wrote and it got me thinking, so here y'all are.**_

_**Disclaimer: I still, still, don't bloody own Teen Wolf. 'Scuse me while I sob in the corner.**_

Stiles doesn't really know when it started.

Okay, that's a lie. He remembers perfectly.

It started when Lydia ran through the woods naked for two days, and before his dad could give her his huge Sheriff's coat, Stiles was stripping off his plaid shirt, carefully threading her arms through the sleeves and deftly buttoning it up. Then, while he struggled not to shiver in his white under shirt, she tucked herself under his arm, desperately trying to get warm. They stayed that way until Lydia was put in a hospital bed, and then sent home.

The day after, she turned up, dressed in tiny pyjamas shorts and a tank top, in his drive way, car nowhere to be seen.

"Lydia? Did you walk here?" She nodded distractedly.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?"

"No. You just look like you need someone. Wanna come inside? You look cold." She followed him as he unlocked his front door, and stepped inside. He moved around setting down keys and putting his phone on charge. He had learnt his lesson about charging it as soon as he got the chance. You really need a way to contact people fast in Beacon Hills.

Lydia perched on a stool in the kitchen as he shuffled around making hot cocoa to warm her up.

"Wait here a sec, Lyds." He clattered up the stairs and grabbed a plaid shirt of his; a blue one this time, and a pair of sweatpants. He turned to go back downstairs, and then turned back and grabbed a pair of fluffy socks, and his favourite hoodie. Racing back downstairs, he found Lydia standing in his hallway, cocoa clutched in small, delicate hands, staring at the picture on his wall.

"Is this you and your mom?" She asked quietly. The picture was of him as a child, with longer hair still, and a tall, slim woman who looked just like him. He gently took her drink and set it on the cabinet against the wall, then slipped the shirt around her shoulders.

"Feet up, Lyds. And yes, it is." She lifted each foot and stepped into the sweatpants. He pulled them up over her slim hips, then tied the drawstring tight, to stop them slipping back down. He had rolled them up so she didn't trip.

"She's beautiful." He coaxed her arms into his shirt, and buttoned it, swallowing hard as his fingers brushed her flat stomach. Ignoring the customary flutter in his stomach, he muscled her into his hoodie, and the socks.

"Yeah she is." He liked that she referred to his mom in the present tense. "Speaking of moms, does yours know where you are?" Lydia picked up her cocoa and took a sip.

"No. She doesn't care anyway." Stiles made a mental note to text his dad and ask him to let Lydia's mom know where she was.

"Wanna watch tv?" He asked. A shudder ran through her tiny frame, and he breathed a sigh of relief that she was warm enough that her body had recognised that it was cold, and was trying to warm up. Her fingertips, peeking out of the sleeves of his hoodie, were no longer blue, but a pale white. Not amazing, but good enough to avoid frostbite.

"Sure." She followed him over to the couch, where he sat her down, and then draped a soft, thick blanket over her. She was back to normal enough that she quirked a small smile at his fussing. He dug through his extensive film collection until he found her favourite, and set it up to play, scrambling back to the couch. Settling in, he managed to quell his noise of surprise when she spread the blanket over him and burrowed into his side.

She let out a laugh when the beginning of Beauty and The Beast played.

"Not even Jackson knows this is my favourite film. He still thinks it's The Notebook. I shouldn't be surprised that you know, really." She told him, violent shivers racking her limbs as she began to warm up properly. He flinched as she slid her fingertips under his shirt to steal his warmth.

"Jesus, Lyds, you're freezing! How long were you out there?" She shrugged into him, and pushed her fingers further under his shirt, completely unconcerned with social parameters. He sighed, handed her the cocoa, and picked up his own in one hand, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders.

They spent the rest of the afternoon watching Disney films and debating over who the best villain was.

When Lydia reluctantly asked to be driven home, he didn't ask for his clothes back, even though she had his favourite hoodie.

The clothing theft didn't happen again until another pack kidnapped Lydia and tried to turn her, to test her immunity.

After the pack had rescued her, and she had been taken home, she had turned up at his house, dressed in his sweatpants, and the red shirt he had given her when she had been found in the woods, as well as his favourite hoodie.

And if his heart gave a little jump at seeing her in his clothes, no one needed to know, right?

She didn't even say anything, just barrelled into his chest and started sobbing.

He scooped her up, kicked the front door shut, and went upstairs to his bedroom. He shut that door, too, bundled them both in his quilt and lay them down on his bed. Then he just held her while she cried, until she had a headache, and didn't have any more tears left. Then he fetched her aspirin, and a glass of water, and let her lean against his chest while they watched Hercules. He didn't mention the multiple bite marks that would likely leave scars for the rest of her life, and she didn't mention that she had stolen another of his shirts.

When the Sheriff came home after his shift, he found them fast asleep in Stiles' bed, twisted together so tightly he wasn't sure where one ended and the other began, one weak from blood loss, the other exhausted from worrying about her and searching for her. One of Stiles' hands was wrapped around her waist, the other pillowing her head, and his long fingers were spread across one of the bandages.

He just turned out the light, and shut the door.

Surprisingly, no one said anything when they showed up at school together the next morning, Lydia in a skirt, and his tied off plaid shirt.

And no one protested when they drove away together when the last bell rang. They got fro yo, and went to the movies.

Over the next few weeks, they spent more and more time together, Lydia stealing something and bringing one item back every time she did so.

She admitted to sleeping in his shirts, so he gave her some of his t shirts instead, stating they were more comfortable to sleep in; he knew from experience.

Lydia blushed a faint pink, and got up to play the movie.

It was the first time he had seen her blush.

Three months later, and there was another attack. A rogue omega jumped Isaac on his way to the store, and Isaac was injured badly. He survived, and healed, and the omega was killed, but it seemed to spook Lydia.

She showed up at his house again. She had spent so much time there she greeted the Sheriff by name.

"Hey, John."

"Lyds! Are you staying for dinner?" She nodded, and gestured to the stairs.

"Is Stiles upstairs?"

"Yeah, give him a prod, would you, poor kid's asleep on his homework again." She gave a lilting chuckle.

Ascending to Stiles' room, she knocked, and upon receiving no answer, opened the door to find Stiles slumped over his desk uncomfortably, snoring softly.

She flicked his ear gently, startling him out of his slumber, and sending him tumbling to the floor in shock. One look at him sprawled on the floor, blinking slowly, had her laughing until she couldn't breathe, immediately feeling better. He laughed with her, and then scooped her up in a hug. She clung to his shoulders, breathing in his familiar scent of cinnamon and cardamom, relaxing in increments as they stumbled lazily over to his bed and lay down.

They traded stories of their day, napped for an hour or two, and then sleepily made their way down to eat with the Sheriff before he left for his shift.

"Dad. Is that real bacon?" John shifted guiltily. Stiles made a face, and Lydia cheekily swiped a piece of the bacon from Stiles' plate. She munched cheerily, unable to be sad in Stiles' presence. He swore at her mid rant, and she stole another piece. He tickled her until she gave it back, squealing the entire time, both of them giggling and poking each other.

They leaned into each other panting, and realised the Sheriff was watching them with a fond smile on his face.

"You remind me of your mother and I, the pair of you." He said, and then carried on eating.

Both of them blushed this time.

_**There will be more of this, but I'm too tired right now, and this seemed like a decent place to stop, so here y'all are.**_

_**G x**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**So, I've gotten a rather lovely reception to this fic, which is lovely, so I thought I would right some more.**_

_**Disclaimer: I still don't own teen wolf. STILL.**_

The clothing theft went on until gradually, Lydia had worn every piece of his outerwear at one time or another. Stiles couldn't quite describe how much he liked Lydia in his clothes.

It seemed to be some sort of stupid testosterone fuelled male reaction, to do with possession and providing.

He knows it's stupid, he does, but he can't help it.

Plus, Lydia seems to like it, and that's really all he cares about.

Right now, they're sitting in his room playing go fish, with her wearing his new sweater.

"Have you got any eights?" Lydia says. She narrows her eyes at him, and he sighs and hands over his three eights. She whoops excitedly and lays down another set, sleeve slipping over her fingertips.

"I have no clue why you always win this, Lyds." She flips her hair.

"Because I'm fabulous." He regards her for a moment and then agrees.

"Yes, you are." She smiles, a proper smile, not the fake, forced one she gives all their friends, everyone she knows, and he can't help but be oddly proud that she lets him see it, the real Lydia, who is smart; impossibly so, and caring, and nerdy, and likes superheroes and video games.

They play until Lydia wins three more sets, and then the game, and then they go and play Mario Kart, which Lydia is freakishly good at, like everything else that she does.

Three hours later, and they have cycled through Mario Kart, Call of Duty, and Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, and are playing snakes and ladders at the kitchen table. The Sheriff has just come in from his shift, and is making sarcastic comments over their shoulders, and making dinner in the background.

When Stiles wins, she plants a big congratulatory kiss on his cheek, and tries not to think about how six months she wouldn't have even looked at Stiles passing him in the corridor.

Hell, she probably wouldn't even have noticed him.

He blushes slightly, and she momentarily feels bad for using his lingering crush on her to manipulate him, but then he tickles her sides, and she shrieks and chases him upstairs, then jumps on his back like a monkey, dressed in his sweater, and a ratty pair of sweatpants, and her dad's fluffy socks, and one of Stiles' many beanie hats. He laughs, and hefts her higher, fingers gripping her thighs gently and she swears she can feel a separate line of heat from each digit. He drops her on the bed, and spins around to look at her. She reaches out and tangles their fingers together, something they have been doing since the attack on Isaac, and sighs contentedly,.

"Give me a hug." She orders him. Stiles laughs softly.

"What? No please?" She pulls the beanie hat back on from where it had slipped, and widens her eyes at him, pushing her lower lip out and batting her eyelashes.

"Please?" He grins widely, and pulls her up.

She adores the way he hugs. Because she is so much shorter, he tips himself down slightly, and places his hand flat against the curve of her back, then straightens again, pulling her onto tiptoes, her chest flush against his, until her arms have to loop around his neck for balance, and that pulls them even closer together, so they are sharing breaths, and she tips her face into his neck and inhales his familiar, comforting scent of spices. They just stand like that, squashed together companionably, Stiles' breaths tickling her shoulder where his sweater has slipped off.

They sigh good naturedly when they are called for lasagne by the Sheriff, but disentangle themselves reluctantly and wander downstairs, not even realising that they are holding hands.

The Sheriff spends all of dinner shooting them looks they cant decipher.

Lydia always sleeps over on nights when she stays for dinner, and then they go to school together the next morning, a practice that has become incredibly comforting and routine over the five months they have been doing this.

This being Lydia stealing Stiles' clothes, and spending all her spare time with him.

When they go to bed that night, Lydia puts on a pair of shorts, and one of Stiles' t shirts, a green lantern one that he is especially fond of, and crawls into bed to wait for him to finish brushing his teeth.

This is another part of their routine, her waiting in his bed for him. They will spend an hour just talking until she goes to the bed in the guest room, or falls asleep right next to him. More often than not it is the latter that occurs, something neither teenager can bring themselves to regret. It has never been awkward, another thing she is grateful for.

She hears the tap running, and rolls onto her side, pulling her(Stiles') shirt down where it has ridden up. He comes out from the bathroom, shoots her a grin, and switches his bedside lamp on, the main light off, and hops into bed with her. He lies on his side facing her, and they chatter about random stuff, until they eventually drift into each other, and Lydia is lying half on Stiles, half on the bed.

When the Sheriff knocks the next morning, he just laughs fondly, and shuts the door.

When they wake up half an hour later, Stiles is pressed against Lydia's back, their legs tangled together under the duvet, and Stiles' arm is wrapped possessively around her slim, curvy waist, hand settled over the gap between her collarbones. Her small hand is covering his where it rests, and the other hand is reaching up to hold his other hand where her head is pillowed by his arm.

They sleep all day, through five alarms and three phone calls, and it is the best night's sleep either of them have had in weeks.

When they eventually move, it is only as far as the closet for a sweater for Lydia to steal, and then the sofa downstairs to watch tv and eat the pizza they order, and snuggle.

Days off are the best.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I'm starting this with no real intentions of a specific destination, so I apologise if it's about as crappy as the kanima and it's nasty tricks.**_

_**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.**_

Six months.

That is how long Stiles and Lydia have been peas in a pod.

That's how long Lydia has worn at least one item of Stiles' clothing at all times, and how long the Sheriff has heard Lydia's name at least ten times a day, and how long their friends have been referring to _StilesandLydia_ in one breath, like they are one entity. Even the twins do it, and the Sheriff, and Scott's mom and the teachers.

No one even expects one without the other any more; they behave the way Scott and Stiles used to when they were children, two bodies sharing a person, one soul, that just happened to have been born in two separate places.

So when Lydia turns up at Allison's house alone, the huntress is understandably puzzled.

"Lydia. Has something happened to Stiles?" The teenage grasps Lydia gently by the wrist and draws her into the house. Lydia makes a face, and uncharacteristically stays quiet, instead shaking her head. Allison frowns inwardly, keeping her face straight, and climbs the stairs with her friend, directing her into her bedroom and closing the door behind them. Lydia is oddly pliable, letting Allison sit her down onto her bed, and drape a blanket around her. She is pale and shaky, a stark contrast with her vibrant hair.

"Lyds? Talk to me, please, you're worrying me." The use of the nickname that is usually reserved for Stiles alone seems to jolt Lydia from her stupor, and she nibbles her lip nervously. Allison is worried; she has never seen Lydia nervous before, the other girl has always concealed her nerves behind a well made up mask, and beautiful clothing.

"I think..." Lydia begins to speak, but cuts herself off and covers her mouth with a delicate hand.

"Lydia?" Allison crouches in front of the red head, taking her free hand and squeezing comfortingly.

Lydia composes herself, takes a deep breath and lowers the hand that covered her mouth to grasp the edge of the blanket slipping off her shoulder.

"I love him!" Lydia blurts, and re-covers her mouth in horror. Nothing has ever slipped out before, she has never lost control, even when Peter was controlling her, even when she found out that she is a banshee, even when her mom stopped asking her where she was going and when she was coming home.

Allison relaxes. She doesn't have to ask who Lydia is talking about.

"Of course you do." She tells the other girl.

"What?"

"Lydia, for a genius, you can be a little dense sometimes." Lydia opens her mouth to speak, but Allison cuts her off. "You've been practically super glued to his side for six months now, you're wearing his clothes all the time, you turn up to everything together, you sit together in class. You spend more time with Stiles than with anyone else, we talk about you like you are the same person now. We all knew you loved each other, we were just taking bets on when one of you would realise it, and make a move." Lydia takes a shaky breath, and tugs her hand free from Allison's, stands up.

"I'm going to tell him." She bundles the blanket up and sets it on the bed, wringing her hands.

"It'll be fine, Lydia. He's always loved you, he'll be happy that you've finally realised where your head is." Allison smiles gently, and hugs her friend, relieved when Lydia hugs her back, and whispers in her ear, "I haven't forgotten that you called me dense, you know." They laugh together, slightly high pitched and breathy.

"Go get your guy." She smacks Lydia playfully on the behind.

Lydia leaves, yelling a goodbye.

Allison sighs.

"They're going to be so much worse than Scott and I ever were." She tells her empty room.


	4. Chapter 4

_**I swear to god, this wrote itself. I had no idea where I was going with it, but obv there would be a little bit of snogging.(Sue me, I'm english.)**_

_**Dsiclaimer: Teen wolf is not mine. I am disillusioned by this fact.**_

Lydia shifts nervously on Stiles' doorstep, running her thumb over the edge of the key the Sheriff had given her last month.

Sucking her breath in, she runs over the reasons she should do this now.

She is _in_ _love_ with Stiles.

She might have been having dreams about his mouth. Specifically his mouth on hers.

See reasons 1 and 2.

Sighing and shoving her hand through her hair, she lets herself in and waves at the Sheriff, who is sitting on the couch and reading a case file.

"How was shopping?" He asks. She regales him with tales of her parents, yet again, trying to buy their way back into her life, trying to make up for the absence that has been present since she was a naive pre-teen who thought her parents loved each other, and her.

"So, I have a new handbag. And shoes, and clothes. I don't need any of it."

"Sorry, kiddo. I know it hurts that they don't realise they're hurting you." He peers over the top of his reading glasses at her, so wise and loving that it sets off an uncomfortable ache in her chest, making her miss when her own father looked at her like that, the emotion hitting her with an intensity that always surprises her.

"It's ok, Mr Stilinski. You're awesome enough to make up for both of them." She tells him, shocking both of them. Her mouth has run away with her again, a trait she is sure comes from his teenage son.

"Thank you, Lydia Martin." He tells her, eyes twinkling merrily. She changes the topic, swallowing the lump of emotion in her throat.

"Is Stiles back yet?" She scrunches the sleeve of Stiles' sweater in her palm.

"Not yet. He said something about going running with Isaac. Want to wait upstairs?" She nods and ascends the stairs gracefully, going into Stiles' room and curling up in his bed. She switches the tv on, and settles on a music channel, playing chart music jauntily in the quiet room. Eventually her breathing slows, her eyes drift shut and she tips over, fast asleep.

When Stiles clatters in an hour later, he prods his dad and asks if Lydia is here yet.

"She's up in your room, kiddo. I think she fell asleep though, it's been awful quiet up there."

"Thanks Dad." Stiles climbs the stairs, making a conscious effort to be quiet, and nudges the door open. All of his breath leaves him when he sees the redhead asleep in his bed, snuffling softly into the sleeve of the sweater she took last week. He dumps his kit, shucks his running gear, pulls a fresh shirt on, and perches on the edge of the bed. He slides a hand down her arm carefully, and taps her elbow gently. She is adorably dishevelled from her impromptu nap.

"Lydia?" She breathes slowly, disturbing the strands of hair that have fallen over her face. He brushes them aside, tenderly tucking them behind her ear. Taken by impulse, he kisses her cheek, and she sleepily blinks, mostly awake.

"Hey." She mumbles, yawning.

"Hey, honey. Good nap?" She nods, struggling upright, and tips herself forward, head resting in the crook of Stiles' neck. He loops his arms around her, and drops a kiss on her forehead.

"How was running?" She says, lips tickling his collarbone. He shudders.

"Awful. Keeping up with a werewolf is stupidly difficult." She giggles into his neck, and he smiles softly. Taking a deep breath, she pulls away, and looks up at him.

"What?" He asks, curious at her staring. She gathers her courage.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure. Lyds, is something wrong?" His brow furrows in concern.

"Nothing wrong. I just realised something the other day, and I thought I'd tell you, seeing as it mostly involves you anyhow." Somewhere along the way, she has picked up Stiles' habit of rambling, and the torrent of words brings a smile to his lips. Her stomach flip flops nervously.

"What did you realise, then?" He reclines next to her, look up at her fondly.

"I love you." She tells him; no mincing words, no verbal gymnastics, just three words, and a blush gracing her cheeks as Stiles goes still and his jaw drops open a tiny bit. When he doesn't speak, she lets her nerves get the better of her. "It's fine if you don't feel the same way, even if you had that crush on me for ages, and besides, I was a cow to you for so long, it's hardly surprising that you don't feel the same way, so I'll just go now." She makes to leave, and Stiles grabs her wrist gently.

"Processing." The single word is all he says, so she sits cross legged in front of him and plays with the cuffs of his sweater, which reaches far past her fingertips. Abruptly, he sits up, and a large grin spreads across his face.

"Stiles?" She says uncertainly. And is promptly given the shock of her life, as he surges forward and kisses her, deeply, intensely, passionately, threading his long fingers through her hair and pulling her into him. It takes her a second to respond, shock factoring heavily, but she gathers herself and rises up on her knees to lean further into him, sliding one hand around to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck, and the other fists in the fabric of his t shirt. They kiss for a good few minutes, until oxygen becomes sort of urgent and they break apart, panting and grinning.

"I love you too." He whispers, and kisses her again.

One very pleasant make out session later and Lydia has snagged herself a Stiles.

And it's only tuesday.


	5. Chapter 5

_**So this is rather soon after the other one and I'm quite surprised. This may be the last chapter of the main bit, but I am fairly sure I'm going to do a chapter a bit later in their lives.**_

_**Disclaimer: After monday's episode, I am even more annoyed that I don't own teen wolf. Especially after Dylan's acting because really someone give him a medal. One which involves glitter. And shiny things.**_

Stiles grunts as Isaac catches his collar. He is between classes, exchanging the History of Russia for To Kill A Mockingbird, and humming as dubstep pounds in his ears, rattling his brain pleasantly. He yanks out his earphones as he steps back to ease the pressure at his throat.

"What." He doesn't bother phrasing it as a question, is done with werewolf shit enough that even with Isaac's dimples he can't be bothered to be polite.

"Just wanted to see if you wanted to run with me later." Isaac is unruffled by his rudeness, just sticks his hands in his pockets and smirks at him. Stiles frowns at him, slowly twisting the dial for his locker combination, and switches out his books.

"Running. With you. You know I wouldn't be able to keep up. What's the point?" Stiles shuts his locker and taps the book against his thigh in feigned boredom. Isaac tips his head and smiles sweetly.

"Because running away is far preferable to having your throat ripped out. With someone's teeth." Stiles blinks at him, unsettled by the contrast of Isaac's smile and his words, but considers it. He knows Lydia is being taken shopping by her parents tonight, and she will be gone for a few hours, then she will come over for dinner, but other than that his homework is done, and barring any emergencies of the wolfy type(which are usually random enough that he would have had to drop everything as it is), he is completely free. Besides, he has been considering taking up jogging for some time now, tired of the near constant stitch that rips through his ribs after running away from various creepy monsters.

"Okay. I'll drive us back to Derek's?" Isaac grins, quick and sincere, and Stiles maybe coos a bit.

In his head. Because he values his intactness.

By the time he can speak, Isaac is gone, and he is late.

Shit.

He sprints to English, gets a stern look from Ms. Blake and texts his dad under the table covertly, letting him know about the plan for tonight. His dad texts back a smiley face and an 'ok', and he slips his phone back in his pocket just in time, as Ms. Blake walks past his desk. He shoots Lydia a quick grin, trying to stop himself from fixating on the way his shirt swamps her, and sticks his nose in the book until the end of the lesson, even though his mother read it to him as a bedtime story before she died.

He sniffs a bit, covertly rubs his eyes as if he has an itch, and Lydia shoots him a sympathetic glance. She knows the story of how his mother read classics to him at bedtime, working her way through them with him. To Kill A Mockingbird was the last book they finished together.

He somehow makes it through class without crying, the sudden emotions cloying and obstructive in their intensity.

The bell eventually rings, they are dismissed, and Stiles waits until the classroom is cleared out apart from Lydia. She doesn't say a word, doesn't need to, but just wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face in his chest. He clings to her like he is drowning, and he feels like it, feels like the memory of those nights is sinking, and he is being pulled down with it, down into the black depths, and he will never escape.

Lydia tugs his shirt until he sits down, and she is standing in front of him. She is wearing flat shoes today, boots with golden buckles, made from soft leather. She confessed to him that she feels like going adventuring when she wears them, but as a consequence, she is even shorter than normal. He sucks in a breath when she pulls his face closer to rest against her stomach, and forces the memory of his crush away. He pretends it is gone, but he knows better, and ignores it out of respect for her.

He winds his arms around her back and snuggles closer, breathing in their combined scents and sighing as he relaxes for the first time since it was announced they would be reading To Kill A Mockingbird.

"Better?" He voice is soft in the silence of the room, and he nods against her, not wanting to speak yet. She cards her fingers through his hair for a few minutes, then they reluctantly break apart. It is then end of the day, and Stiles know Isaac will be waiting for him, like Lydia's parents will be waiting for her.

They lace their fingers together, wander through the mostly empty corridors and dump their stuff in their lockers. Even if they hadn't already finished it, in Lydia's case finished it pre-emptively, they won't have time for homework tonight.

"Right then. Try not to let your parents get to you too much, okay?" Stiles grins wryly at her. She scowls at the mention of them, flopping forwards into his chest once more. He brings his hands up to set them on her shoulders. "You'll be fine. Just get them to buy you stuff you actually want this time, yeah? Like your boots. Those are cool."

She looks up at him.

"Stiles, you got me these boots for my birthday." He smiles at her, rubs his thumbs over her collarbones soothingly.

"I did say they were cool." She giggles, the laugh she only lets out with him, and pokes him in the chest, standing upright.

"Alright, fine, I'll go, and I'll smile, but I'm venting later." He smirks, and tries not to react when she kisses him on the cheek.

She turns and sashays down the corridor.

"Knock 'em dead, honey!"

"Bye Stiles!" She yells back. He chuckles, and then goes to find Isaac. The tall blonde teenager is leaning against his car.

"Took your time. No Lydia?" Stiles shakes his head.

"Her parents are taking her guilt shopping."

"Guilt shopping?" Isaac tilts his head in a way that remind Stiles of a puppy.

"Long story." He unlocks the car and they climb in, staying silent for the short drive back to his house for work out clothes, and then the journey to Derek's. He receives a message from Lydia, just a picture of her face contorted into an expression that he has seen in conjunction with her parents before, and regularly. Chuckling, he kills the engine and hops out, directing an easy grin at Erica and Boyd as they climb out of Derek's camaro.

"Hey Catwoman. 'Sup big guy." He waves enthusiastically, smirks at Derek's feigned unimpressed stare, and claps Isaac on the back. "C'mon dude." Isaac prods him in the ribs and they venture inside, where they both change and Isaac bullies him into stretching into unnatural positions, claiming he will feel the benefit later.

"What kind of cruel and unusual punishment is this?" Stiles grunts, and Isaac pushes on his shoulders so he bends to touch his toes.

"I promise you'll feel better later." Isaac chuckles, leaning on his shoulders more. Stiles squeaks loudly as his face nears his toes.

"This is not better!" Isaac laughs, and lets him up, setting off at a jog. Stiles grumbles under his breath, and follows.

Cut to three hours later and Stiles is cursing the existence of blonde werewolves, and panting heavily, every inch of him like jelly. He stumbles into the kitchen of Derek's apartment swearing a blue streak, mostly aimed at Isaac, but also at werewolves in general, Scott and the monsters that make this kind of exercise necessary in the first place.

"Impressive." Derek says, drinking orange juice straight out of the carton. Stiles scowls, and steals the juice, because somewhere along the way, he and Derek got to be friends.

He drinks, exhausted and still pissed at Isaac, who said they would start at a 'light' jog, and stop 'soon'.

"Keep your puppies in check." He eventually mutters, confident that Derek's super hearing will pick it up.

"Aw, but it's so fun watching you squirm." Derek smiles, and goes to give his muscles more muscles. He sighs, and taps out a quick text to Lydia.

_On my way home, see you soon x._

Five minutes pass, and he receives no reply, so he sighs, and goes to pick up food for him and Lydia, and a healthy salad for his dad, calling a goodbye to the pack as he goes.

"Later dude!" Is all he gets from Isaac, annoyingly chipper despite their three hour work out, and he's pretty certain Erica and Boyd are_ occupied_. Derek has already left, being vague about his heading, and Stiles figures he can look after himself.

Food laden, he heads home, shoulders the door open and dumps dinner on his dad's lap.

"Thanks kiddo." The Sheriff says cheerily.

"Hey dad." Stiles divests himself of his burden, and prods his dad, who is already face first in food. "Is Lydia here?" The Sheriff swallows noisily and points to the ceiling.

"She's up in your room, kiddo. I think she fell asleep though, it's been awful quiet up there."

"Thanks. Enjoy dinner!" He trips over the first step, catches himself on the next, and climbs the stairs without any further mishaps, nudging the door open to his room and smiling at the sight of Lydia curled up on his bed, fast asleep. His shirt has ridden up slightly to show a stretch of her pale skin, and he fixes his eyes elsewhere in some stupid show of respect for his snuffling best friend.

The best friend that he is slightly in love with.

Not so much slightly, either.

He changes, puts his stuff away, then sits down next to Lydia. She is rumpled from sleep, and he runs a hand up her arm, shaking her awake. She doesn't stir. He grins, smooths her hair and tucks it behind her ear.

"Lydia?"

He drops a kiss on her cheek, and she stretches, waking slowly.

"Hey." She mumbles sleepily, blinking up at him.

"Hey, honey. Good nap?" She nods, struggling upright, and tips herself forward to lean her face against the dip in his collarbone. He pulls her into a hug, kisses her forehead contently.

"How was running?" She mutters into his skin. He covers a shiver by replying.

"Awful. Keeping up with a werewolf is stupidly difficult." She laughs, her special Stiles laugh, that he can't help but adore.

Except then she pulls away. He frowns.

"What?"

"Can I tell you something?" She says, nibbling nervously at her lip. His frown deepens.

"Sure. Lyds, is something wrong?" She shakes her head, shoots him a nervous glance.

"Nothing's wrong. I just realised something the other day, and I thought I'd tell you, seeing as it mostly involves you anyhow."

"What did you realise, then?" He reclines next to her, look up at her fondly.

He spares a thought for how cute he finds it when she rambles but pays attention as she carries on talking.

"I love you." She tells him; no mincing words, no verbal gymnastics, just three words, and a blush gracing her cheeks as Stiles goes still and his jaw drops open a tiny bit.

His best friend loves him? Through his stupor he recognises her voice, and swims his way back through the fog to listen.

"It's fine if you don't feel the same way, even if you had that crush on me for ages, and besides, I was a cow to you for so long, it's hardly surprising that you don't feel the same way, so I'll just go now." She makes to leave, and Stiles grabs her wrist gently. No. No leaving.

"Processing." He can't quite believe it, she loves him, and it's the best news he has had in weeks, because he loves her, has for years and years, and over the past few months, that love has intensified and grown and become all-consuming.

Hang on. If he loves her and she loves him, why are they not kissing right now?

So he sits up, smiles, leans forward, and captures Lydia in a searing kiss. He feels her tiny gasp against his mouth, and threads his fingers into her hair and pulls her into his lap. She rises onto her knees after a few seconds, tangling the fingers of one hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, and grasping the material of his t shirt in the other.

They kiss for a couple of minutes, until Lydia pulls away, panting. He gives her a huge smile, and leans back in.

"I love you too." He tells her. And then he proceeds to kiss the breath she has just got back right out of her.

He briefly wonders how people will react at school tomorrow, but that thought is eliminated when Lydia bites his lip.

He thinks tuesday is his new favourite day.

_**Kissage!**_

_**So that's a thing. Not much about the clothes in this one but it was mainly about the kissage, to be honest. The next chapter will be an epilogue, a considerable time later in their lives, so I hope that measures up. And I hope you enjoyed this too!**_

_**G x**_


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